


The Comfort of Tea

by Omi_Ohmy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 15:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omi_Ohmy/pseuds/Omi_Ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lawn mower, a pertly pink todger, endless cups of tea and a few sly grins. Oh yes, and Harry is cursed to temporarily bond to anyone he gets close to; for some reason that person ends up being Draco, more often than not…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Comfort of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Author/Artist LJ Name: omi_ohmy  
> Prompter: janey_p  
> Prompt Number: 11  
> Title: The Comfort of Tea  
> Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, Molly/Arthur  
> Summary: A lawn mower, a pertly pink todger, endless cups of tea and a few sly grins. Oh yes, and Harry is cursed to temporarily bond to anyone he gets close to; for some reason that person ends up being Draco, more often than not…  
> Rating: PG  
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Warning(s): Um. None. ::rolls around in the fluff::  
> Epilogue compliant? No  
> Word Count: ~20,000  
> Author's Notes: I drank an awful lot of tea whilst writing this fic. I also had a hoot writing it – I was aiming for sweet and funny, I hope I’ve succeeded. Many thanks to B, E and I for betaing. Any remaining mistakes are all my own, and are my fault for fiddling, post-beta.

_“_ _I’ll make some tea,” said Hermione breathlessly, pulling kettle and mugs from the depths of her bag and heading toward the kitchen._

_Harry found the hot drink as welcome as the Firewhisky had been on the night that Mad-Eye had died; it seemed to burn away a little of the fear fluttering in his chest._

_Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, JK Rowling. (Tea is CANON)_

 

There was a room in the Ministry, a place where objects of interest were kept: evidence in Auror cases, items awaiting investigation by the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, as-yet uncategorised Dangerous Objects that would at some point probably disappear with the Unspeakables. Nobody really liked to go into this room because there were so many strange _things_ , all stacked higgledy-piggledy. Most Aurors, Harry knew, would barely step a foot into Room 8, relying instead on their ability to Summon the objects they needed. This approach worked most of the time, but there were horror stories told over post-work drinks down at the Leaky about Aurors who had accidentally Summoned the wrong cursed teapot and ended up covered in boils for the next two weeks.

This in mind, Harry stood by the door, his wand drawn. Peering at the tall and crowded shelves, he could just about see the small velvet case he needed; he could also see that it was quite firmly wedged under a rather hideous bust of Scrimgeour. Taking a reluctant few steps closer, Harry decided to Levitate the bust before reaching for the earrings-case with his free hand.

It should have been simple. Instead, of course, not only did the bust wobble as it ascended, knocking loose what looked like a lawn mower on the shelf above – whoever had put that there was plainly an idiot – the resulting rattling shake managed to set the shelves off. Harry watched in horror as the shelves began to sway, tracing an ever-widening path from left to right, until the whole thing came crashing down in a series of loud clatters and bangs. His first instinct was to retreat, and he was almost at the door, his head feeling heavy as the sounds echoed round the room, by the time it had finished all coming down. Strange clouds of colour came off some of the objects, and in places the air shimmered with magic. Harry reached for the door handle, eager to get out. This did not look good and he realised with a sinking heart that he was going to have to report this. And he wasn’t going to get his report on the cursed earrings finished before he went home for the weekend either.

As he walked back to his desk, Harry shook off the feeling that he was being watched; sometimes the ‘constant vigilance’ of being an Auror rubbed off in entirely the wrong way. No one would be stalking him on Level 2; it would be madness doing that in the heart of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The slight movement he thought he saw in the open doorway he passed was probably nothing, just someone getting on with his or her job.

Ron ran the usual diagnostic spells, his Auror decorum only slightly ruffled by the occasional joke at Harry’s expense; the Unspeakables, thankfully, took on the task of returning the room to its normal semi-chaotic state. As far as anyone could see, Harry had escaped any harm from all the magic that had been released when the shelf had fallen down.

He celebrated by having one of his normal, ever-so-slightly predictable weekends, filled with Weasleys and Quidditch and a drink at the Leaky. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was warm, familiar, and safe.

*

The following Monday, Harry stepped out of the lift at the Ministry, coffee in hand and as ready as he ever was for the start of a new week at the Auror office. Although he mostly drank tea, his Monday morning coffee was a weekly treat that he had instigated for two reasons: it was something to look forward to when he dragged himself out of bed, and it meant that when his friends gently mocked his devotion to tea, he could honestly point out that he did, in fact, also drink coffee.

His mind was on the half-finished report waiting for him on his desk, but before he had taken one more step towards the Auror department, he bumped straight into a small, meek-looking witch and managed to pour his coffee all over her.

“Sorry,” Harry said, cringing at the set of her shoulders and the brief way her eyes flickered with irritation before she gave him a thin and empty smile.

“S’fine.” She stepped back and Vanished the coffee with her wand. But Harry couldn’t help but notice that the aroma of his cappuccino still lingered in the air, as did the irregular brown stain down the front of her robes.

Harry turned and began to walk away after apologising again. This was even more awkward than his encounters with the starry-eyed witches and wizards who wanted to hear all his war stories. But within three steps he felt a tugging ache deep in his gut, and stopped. Looking back he could see that she had raised her hands in front of her, as if pushing at an invisible barrier. Slowly, she turned back to face him. A frown drew her face together.

“Did you feel that, too?” she asked.

“Like a pulling sensation?”

“No. More… more like an invisible barrier.”

Harry took an experimental step forward, and the strange sensation in his stomach eased a little. “Does that feel any different?”

“It feels normal. But…” She tried to step away from him, but stopped almost immediately. “I can’t move away from you.”

Harry shut his eyes. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, and he could just tell that this was going to be one of _those_ days. However she had felt about the coffee was nothing to how annoyed the witch appeared now.

“How about we head down to the Auror office, and see if we can find someone to help us work out what’s happened?” he said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. Her scowl told him that he’d probably just managed to sound patronising. “It’s just down the hallway. It’s OK,” Harry added. “I’m an Auror.”

“I know who you are,” she snapped. “Everyone knows who you are.”

“Yes, yes, of course, sorry,” said Harry. “What’s your name?”

“Sally-Anne Perks.” She looked up at him, frowning. “You don’t remember me?”

Harry ran through the people he knew. She did look a little familiar, but then so did most witches and wizards, especially the ones who worked in the Ministry. “Er, I’ve probably seen you around here—”

“I went to Hogwarts,” she said.

“Oh right. Sorry.” That did explain why she looked familiar. Still, he wasn’t expected to remember every student from every year—

“I was in your year.”

Harry just stared at her. He really didn’t remember her from school. Her scowl deepened. As he led his way to the Auror office, Harry sighed, thinking that at this point, his morning cup of coffee would have been most welcome.

*

“So you see, it’s some form of a Proximity Bond.” Luna’s wand travelled between Harry and Sally-Anne, each pass illuminating the bond emanating from Harry, a glowing light-filled dome extending three feet in every direction around him. “What time did you become… attached to each other?”

“Before nine,” Harry said.

“Just after half eight,” Sally-Anne said at the same time.

Luna just hummed in reply, one hand twirling her hair, while she stared off into the distance. A faint sense of alarm grew in Harry. He knew that Luna was an Unspeakable – and loved the bawdy song about Unspeakable’s Unmentionables that she sang when drunk – but Luna was still… well, she was still _Luna_. He’d thought that this made her perfect for the oddness that went with her job, but now that she was the one in charge of sorting this curse out, it felt a little different.

“Yes,” she said, focusing on Harry and Sally-Anne again. “It will probably wear off soon.”

“And that will be it? I can go back to work?” Sally-Anne said, relief clear in her voice. Harry ignored the brief flash of rejection at her desire to get clear from him, focusing instead on Luna’s words: his attention had been caught by a different detail.

“Probably?” he asked.

“Just a matter of waiting,” Luna said, nodding. “Easiest way to know how long it lasts.” Harry couldn’t understand how she could be so calm in the face of all this uncertainty.

Luna lowered her voice and leaned towards Sally-Anne. “I’m not sure if it’s going to happen before you need to go… you know.”

Sally-Anne bit her lip, and Harry finally noticed the way she was… bouncing slightly in the chair, as if she needed to– Oh.

“I can hold on,” Sally-Anne said firmly.

Luna shrugged. She frowned as she turned back to Harry. “I should let you know that I might be wrong. This could be a semi-permanent, or even permanent, bond.”

“What?” said both Harry and Sally-Anne, at the same time.

Luna remained calm. “We’ll find out soon enough. The more transitional ones usually wear off after one or two hours. I have a hunch that this one will be done soon.”

“So if it wears off, that means it’s over?” Harry asked.

“We-ll,” Luna stretched the word out. “Sally-Anne’s not the one cursed, so she’d be free to go.”

“And me?”

“Oh, you’ll probably still be cursed,” Luna said breezily. “It’s likely that if it is a temporary proximity bond, you’re just going to get stuck to anyone who comes too close to you, and be stuck together for a couple of hours each time. Then it will wear off, until the next time someone gets within two feet of you.”

Two feet? Harry heart sank: he didn’t see how he was going to be able to function with a curse like this on him. He loved magic, but sometimes it could be a real pain. The memory of a room filled with clouds of leaking magic prompted his next question: “Do you think it could have been something in Room 8?”

“Maybe, although you could have been cursed over the weekend, or someone could have placed a curse on the lift – it’s shut while we check it out. We’re going through every object involved in Friday’s incident and we’ll see if we can find a match. But at the same time I think it’s a good idea to get as much information as we can from you and —”

“Er–” Sally-Anne interrupted. “I– I do need to go to the loo. Now.” She sounded urgent, and looked mortified.

“Um,” said Harry. “I guess I better come with you, then.”

They walked through the office, with all the Aurors sat at their desks, busy pretending that they weren’t looking and hadn’t been listening in to everything that Luna had just said.

“Sorry,” Harry said again.

“Stop saying that,” Sally-Anne said, sounding fed up. Harry didn’t say anything more, not even when she marched straight into the witches’ loos. He did, however, mouth the word ‘sorry’ to the two startled witches washing their hands at the sinks. The door of the cubicle slammed shut, the sound of the lock sliding across followed by the rustling of robes, and then the rushing sound of liquid in full flow. Harry stared at the floor, shuffling aside as the two witches passed to leave the room. The muffled sound of giggling could be heard as soon as the door shut behind them.

This was so much worse than spilling coffee all over someone. Or even forgetting who they were. It was mortifying, standing in the Witches loos pretending that he couldn’t hear anything. He could only guess that she hadn’t cast a Silencing Charm as she had been in such a rush. He caught up with his own thinking: a Silencing Charm! Of course.

Harry turned his back to the cubicle door, all noise in the room ceasing as he cast the charm. When Sally-Ann tapped him on the shoulder to let him know that she had finished, she gave him a small smile of gratitude as he cancelled the charm.

Any feeling that maybe this wasn’t going to be too strange disappeared when they walked out of the toilets, and nearly walked into Draco bloody Malfoy. He stopped mid-conversation to stare, before quickly clamping his mouth shut and turning away.

Harry was distracted from his thoughts about how quiet Malfoy was now that he worked somewhere in the Ministry compared to the sneering bully he’d been in school, but then the pulling ache was tugging at his gut again, and he knew that Sally-Anne was trying to return to Luna, in the Auror office. He turned and caught up with her, and although he didn’t look back, he was certain that Malfoy had stared at him again as soon as he could. Harry was not looking forward to the word of his predicament spreading through the Ministry. Curses always seemed to be a popular theme for gossip.

*

“Harry!” Ron’s booming voice echoed around the office. Inwardly, Harry groaned: Ron was going to find this all _hilarious_. He was the worst gossip of them all, and Harry was only surprised that it had taken him so long to find out. Harry was already halfway through his third cup of tea, and had discovered that Sally-Anne was a former Ravenclaw – of course Luna remembered her – and now worked in Goblin Liaison.

“Blimey, mate, I heard, but I wanted to see it with my own two eyes.”

“Thanks.”

Ron perched on the edge of Harry’s desk. Luna had commandeered Harry’s chair, and swung her feet as she swivelled from side to side. She explained all about the curse, all over again. Harry marvelled at her seemingly endless reserve of patience.

“So it should be wearing off soon?” Ron asked, when she had finished. “And, er, sorry if it’s something I missed on Friday.”

Harry shrugged. “There was a time delay on it, apparently. I don’t think anyone could have picked up on it.”

Ron nodded. A mischievous grin spread on his face and he turned to Sally-Anne, his eyes twinkling. “So what’s it like then, being stuck with the Chosen One?”

She shrugged, and glanced over at Harry. “Not too bad,” she said softly. Harry felt his cheeks heat, but he was glad that she didn’t seemed as annoyed with him any more: that Silencing Charm had saved the day. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if they ended up stuck together for more than a few hours.

There was a creak as Luna stilled the chair, coming to halt facing Harry. “It should be about time now,” she said. “I just have a feeling. You, try to walk away.” She pointed at Sally-Anne, who immediately took a tentative step away. “More,” said Luna, and Sally-Anne obeyed again. Sally-Anne kept walking away until her straw-coloured hair was all that was visible of her, above the intervening desks and two cubicle walls.

Harry pressed a hand to his stomach, trying to remember the feeling of the bond, but it was gone.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” muttered Sally-Anne. “I mean, er, what a relief it’s not permanent.” She looked at the floor and twisted her mouth to one side. “I’ve been gone a fair while now – do you mind if I go back to my office? Only they might be wondering where I am.”

“Should be fine.” Luna nodded airily.

“Good luck sorting this out,” Sally-Anne said, and then she was gone, weaving her way past the Aurors and not meeting anyone’s eye.

It was only when Harry turned his attention back to his friends that he noticed just how far from him they were sitting. Both of them must have moved their chairs back. He sighed. “Is that it then? Everyone avoiding me until this is sorted?”

“Well actually, once you’re bonded to someone it doesn’t matter how close the rest of us get.” Luna stuck her feet up and swung all the way around on Harry’s chair, looking most pleased with herself. “And you can’t re-bond with the same person again when the two hours are up – it has to be someone each time. In theory, you could bond again if some time has passed, just as long as they weren’t bonded to you in the period just before they come into proximity with you.”

Oh. Harry’s head swam a little from Luna’s explanation, but he’d understood enough. If he was going to get stuck to someone again… Harry decided that he’d rather choose who it was, this time. He gave Ron his best pleading look.

“Me? Why me?” Ron looked alarmed, and actually pushed his chair even further back.

“Maybe because if you need a piss I don’t need to die of embarrassment?”

Ron cocked his head to one side, then nodded slowly, a grin forming. “Did you have to—” He stopped talking when he saw the expression on Harry’s face. “Sorry, mate, but it is a little funny.”

“It really wasn’t.”

“You’ll laugh about it, one day.” Ron shuffled his chair a little closer. “I’ll do it, but I’m not spending all day getting attached to you. No offence, but I’ve got my own things to be getting on with.”

“Fine. And thanks.”

Luna left them sorting through case notes. Her parting words – “I’ll sort this out. Probably. In a day or two, or maybe a week or two. A month, possibly,” – weren’t exactly reassuring, but she hadn’t mentioned Wrackspurts, and she was actually an Unspeakable now and not just a rather… interesting girl from school, so Harry decided not to let it worry him too much.

*

Being stuck with Ron wasn’t anything near as tricky as it had been with Sally-Anne. In fact, Harry hardly noticed the bond over the next few hours. They agreed to take turns in doing whatever they needed to do, so Ron joined Harry on his morning chat with Kingsley, then Harry went down to the cafeteria to help Ron choose doughnuts for his upcoming stake-out.

“You do realise that you are a walking cliché, right?”

“Of course,” said Ron. “But it’s your fault for making me watch all those films. And I don’t think that a Muggle cliché counts: as far as I’m concerned, it’s just a great idea.”

As the two-hour mark approached, Harry returned to the temporary office he’d been allocated until Luna found a counter-curse. He supposed that he was lucky that Williamson, the Deputy Head Auror, was tied up at the Wizengamot for a few days, but the office was a little austere for Harry’s tastes, and he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be sitting there.

He should have considered himself lucky then, when he got stuck to a wizard called Bob who’d come to get some requisition forms counter-signed. Bob was one of those people who was rather glad to be seen with Harry Potter and insisted on Harry joining him for lunch; in general Harry avoided people who inserted the words ‘the great’ before his name.

Lunch with Bob – and, in the end, half of Bob’s friends – was disturbingly like being on some form of bizarre group-date: lots of blushes and coy glances, and a mix of subtle and not-so-subtle compliments. And one of them had asked to touch his scar. When he got back to his office there were only a few minutes of bond time left, and as soon as Bob had left the room, Harry cast a hefty locking charm on the door. With any luck, he’d be able to get on finishing his case reports without anyone else getting stuck to him, accidentally or not.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly enough, although Harry did regret not being able to have a cup of tea; he thought rather wistfully of the tiny little kitchen shared by the Aurors and other Level 2 employees.

Luna popped her head in the Floo late in the afternoon, but any hopes of a counter-curse were dashed with her first words. “You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve narrowed it down to one of twelve curses. Or twenty. I’ll need to come do some tests on you, but tomorrow; there’s not time for them all now.” She didn’t wait for an answer, and Harry was left staring at an empty fireplace, a breath drawn but nothing to say.

Harry waited until half six, reasoning that most people would be gone already by then. And the extra time did give him a chance to finish his case report – the Unspeakables had been able to find the cursed earrings for him. Harry felt like a bit of an idiot, hiding in doorways and hovering near the collection of many-fronded plants by the lifts, but in the end he made it to the Floo banks. He really didn’t want to have to reveal to anyone where he lived; he stepped through the Floo into his study at Grimmauld Place, with a feeling of triumph. At least one aspect of the day had gone his way.

*

The two hours spent bonded to Minister Shacklebolt should have been fine, and perhaps they would have passed without notice if Harry hadn’t been yawning so much. How was he to know that house-elves were also affected by the curse? Sleeping had been impossible until late into the night: Kreacher wanted to follow him around, but Harry didn’t want to disrupt him too much. They had stayed in the kitchen for the whole two hours, as Harry tried push his tiredness aside by drinking tea.

It didn’t look particularly good, Harry being caught with his mouth hanging open as he let out a particularly loud yawn, just as the Minister of bloody Magic had told him all about his latest conversation with his Muggle counterpart. Despite their years of friendship, Harry felt Kingsley’s patience wearing thin by the end of their time together.

It was the look of relief on Kingsley’s face as he waved Harry off through the Floo that was the most annoying. It wasn’t the greatest, seeing how happy people were to be free of his company. And as Harry fell out of the fireplace into the office, he also remembered yet again why he hated Flooing when it wasn’t strictly necessary.

Harry stumbled forward again as he righted himself: Luna was sitting in one of the chairs by the desk.

“Hello there, Harry. I thought I’d run a few tests and see how things were going.” Her hand went to her ears, where Harry noticed that a pair of earrings dangled, miniature blast-ended skrewts, if he wasn’t mistaken.

Not one of the tests Luna ran was familiar. Green sparks ran over his skin in sweeping arcs, leaving tingling trails. And then she spelled half of him transparent, peering at his internal organs as she tested the limits of the bond as she increased the distance between them. It was an odd feeling, both the tugging sensation and the rather disturbing sight of things coiled and gurgling within his body. Glancing down, Harry thought he might have seen some of the pink sprinkles from his morning doughnut and it didn’t really matter if it was imagined or not, the thought alone made his stomach churn all the more.

Feeling a little less exposed once his insides were once again safely hidden from view, Harry glanced up at the clock on the wall. Only about half an hour of this bond left. Harry decided that he would be happy to spend the rest of the day alone.

“So, what’s the prognosis?” he asked as brightly as he could.

“It is certainly fascinating, being able to work with a curse like this. And you really should eat more fibre.”

Harry stared at her.

“So, to be honest, Harry, I’m no nearer having a counter-curse. Sorry; I had hoped that this would be akin to a Roberts-Franklin Contact Curse, but with the absence of more of a tactile element, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Also, there’s no evidence of any physical manifestation of the sensation you feel when the bond is in effect, which rules out several variations of what could be termed a bio-medical curse on more of a molecular level.”

Harry wasn’t sure if this kind of speech was reassuring or not. On the one hand, she was obviously very knowledgeable about curses, but on the other, she still didn’t have a clue about the one currently affecting him.

As if sensing his unease, Luna reached forward to pat his hand reassuringly. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Even if it takes years of research. And with the information from today, I should be able to see if we can get a match from Room 8, so that’s something.” She smiled, but a twinge of panic in his gut was making Harry actually feel sick. Luna moved towards the door. “Oh, look! It’s worn off. I’ll be back in touch within a week or so. For now, I’d say maybe avoid public areas and use the Floo as much as you can. It looks like you could use a little work on your Floo technique, so that can’t be a bad thing.”

After she had gone, the room was comfortingly quiet. Harry resolved to stay in there, door and Floo locked, until he could go home. It was peaceful, and Harry enjoyed not having to worry about anyone else. Of course, after a while he needed to pee, and started hankering after a cup of tea. Opening the door, he checked to see if anyone was about. He made it as far as the corridor without anyone coming too close. The toilets were in sight, and Harry felt the stirrings of hope: he would manage this, and get to go back to the office with a cuppa. One to Harry, nil to the curse.

He’d almost got to the loos when someone emerged from the small kitchen, bumping straight into him. Looking up, Harry’s heart fell further than it had so far: it was Draco Malfoy, a startled look in his eyes.

“You’re stuck to me now,” said Harry. “For the next two hours.” He didn’t have time for pleasantries. “And, er, I’m sorry but you need to put your tea down and come with me. I need to go…” He nodded in the direction of the neat ‘Wizards’ sign on the door opposite.

Malfoy’s eyes widened further. “What—”

“I’ll explain in a minute.” Harry was nearly hopping now, but Malfoy still wasn’t budging. “Please?” Harry added, not beyond begging. Sodding Malfoy: if the next two hours were going to be like this, Harry wasn’t quite sure how he’d cope. Finally, Malfoy nodded and put his drink down, reaching around to leave it on the kitchen counter. Harry didn’t look back, crashing open the door to the loos, almost tripping over in his haste to get to the urinals.

It wasn’t the easiest thing ever, pissing with Malfoy standing behind him, and Harry felt another fleeting flash of sympathy for Sally-Anne.

As Harry was washing his hands, he caught sight of Malfoy smirking, in the mirror.

“So it’s true then.”

Harry turned to face Malfoy. “What’s true?”

“That you’re hung like a—” Malfoy stopped when he saw the look on Harry’s face, and raised a hand in apology. Harry couldn’t quite believe that he’d heard correctly: wasn’t Malfoy the one who always scurried away whenever anyone came to near? “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You looked so serious. What I meant was, you’ve really been cursed, then? Some kind of a bonding curse?”

“Er, yes.” Harry was completely thrown by Malfoy’s joke and seemingly-earnest concern. “Like I said, you’re stuck to me now. For about two hours.”

Malfoy considered Harry’s words, and frowned slightly. “Oh. I’ve got work I need to do…”

“I can come with you, if that helps. No one else can become bonded to me while I’m bonded to you.”

“Ok, then.” Malfoy gestured to the door. “Cup of tea?”

*

Harry had at first been surprised to see Malfoy pop up, blond hair standing out amongst the crowd, in the corridor on Level 2 or sometimes elsewhere in the Ministry. He half-remembered some drink-tinged conversation at a Christmas party, during which Malfoy had quietly apologised for his previous behaviour.

Harry had been curious enough after the apology to ask Hermione about what Malfoy was doing there – she always seemed to know what everyone was up to – and she’d told him that Malfoy had managed to get some minor Ministry job, and that the word was that he’d cut himself off from his parents. Harry wasn’t sure what to make of this, and he’d been busy pursuing cases, helping Kingsley, and trying to work out how to get on with living his life, so he’d not really given it any further thought, filing Malfoy away as ‘repentant’ and ‘quiet’. But now, he realised that he didn’t even know which department Malfoy worked in. The itch of annoyance he’d felt outside the kitchen when Malfoy wouldn’t move had been a surprise, because Harry hardly ever noticed that Malfoy existed any more, and had thought that those old feelings had disappeared a long time ago.

As they entered the dingy corridor tucked away beyond the kitchen, Harry had the answer to the question about where Malfoy worked. The brass plaque bearing the words _Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office_ was polished to a high shine. Harry hadn’t been inside the office for years, and at first he was a little overwhelmed by the chaos of the room. Towering stacks of paper rose from each desk, and none of the furniture matched. Also, the room was tiny. Across the wall which Harry vaguely remembered as being covered with Arthur’s collection of diagrams of Muggle technology, were now tacked a fascinating selection of posters. Harry moved closer to get a better look. There was a Muggle safety poster with a picture of a kitchen filled with hazards: it was covered in little spidery notes with questions such as ‘Why not with water?’ and additions such as ‘DO NOT TRY THIS OUT YOURSELF’. An image of Malfoy with his hair in a wild halo about his head sprang to mind, and Harry smiled.

“How on earth did you end up here?”

Malfoy sighed and removed a large table lamp from one of the desk chairs. “Have a seat. Karen’s out most of this week clearing up some problem with self-replicating pencil sharpeners in Whitstable.” He settled into the chair opposite, and waited for Harry to join him before continuing. “I really do have work to do, you know. But I can see how all of this,” he said, looking around the room, “might seem a little strange.”

For the first time that day, Harry wasn’t bored, or impatient, or even that tired. “I would like to know.”

Malfoy looked down at his hands, his smile gone. “I’m not quite the boy you knew at school.”

Harry looked at his sharp, lean face, at the too-tall frame crammed into this little room. “No,” he murmured. “You’re not. A lot of time’s passed since then.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve turned over a new leaf.” There was a hint of challenge in Malfoy’s voice.

“And now you work here.”

“It was the only job they’d give me,” Malfoy said with a wry smile. “And besides, I was over-qualified for the job.”

“You? Over-qualified to work with Muggle artefacts?”

“I lived with Muggles for about two years. Did you know that?

“No.” Harry thought of Hermione, eyes alight as she told him what she’d heard about Malfoy. “Er… not really. I’d heard rumours.”

Malfoy’s shoulders dropped a little, and Harry felt bad for gossiping. But it _had_ been interesting, as was seeing Malfoy like this, finding out what had happened to him.

“The first time that I saw a microwave oven being used, I was certain that magic must be at work. Then I found my nearest library – a Muggle library – and began to read. Luckily, libraries are pretty much universal, although the books are quieter in a Muggle one. I tried to understand the Muggle world, but it was hard. I think that people– people thought I was strange, when I tapped their odd little machines and talked to them to make them work… Toasters and irons and, once, a fridge. And there was much I probably never did get quite right. Although I did love the cinema.” He paused, eyes lost to memory. Harry found it hard to reconcile Draco Malfoy, Pureblood scion, with someone who went to the cinema or tried to iron clothes the Muggle way.

Malfoy sighed. “And now, here I am.” He picked up a roll of parchment on his desk. “Dealing with flying vacuum cleaners and bouncing beds.” At Harry’s raised eyebrow, Malfoy shook his head. “Don’t ask. And now I’ve told you how I ended up with this job, I really do need to get on. Sorry, there’s not much for you to do here, although I think I’ve got a Quidditch magazine somewhere.”

Sitting back in the chair with his cup of tea and an old copy of Quidditch Weekly, Harry felt curiously content. As he read an article on the correct maintenance of racing brooms, Harry couldn’t resist peeking over the top of the page to have another look at his former school rival. Malfoy seemed lost in his work, a slight frown on his face as he compiled some sort of list. As he concentrated, Malfoy bit his lip a little, and he tapped his finger on the edge of the parchment. He looked too big for the little room, like he might knock something with one of his long limbs.

Harry looked back at the magazine. Apparently it was very important to wax your broom at least once a month. Glancing back up, he decided that Malfoy had indeed changed since school. He wasn’t the defeated shadow he’d been during Voldemort’s time, nor was he the arrogant prick he’d been when younger. A smile touched Harry’s lips at the thought of Malfoy sitting in the familiar warmth of a library, reading up on electricity and modern Muggle technology.

“Do you have to stare? It’s rather disconcerting, you know.”

“Sorry.” Harry felt his cheeks heat as he hid behind the magazine, but when he dared another look, Malfoy had stopped frowning and was smiling to himself.

*

There was no Floo in Malfoy’s office, so just before the two hours were up, they walked back to Harry’s office together. Before Harry pushed open the door, he felt an irrational flash of embarrassment at just how big and empty, not to mention wood-panelled, this room was in comparison to the dingy little hole that Malfoy worked in.

“I just wanted to say, er, thanks. That was…not so bad.” Harry cringed at just how stupid he sounded. “I hope I didn’t keep you from your work.”

Malfoy was indeed looking around the room, taking in the wide charmed windows, the mahogany desk, the deep and well-upholstered armchair. But Harry couldn’t see envy in his expression. He looked more… curious. Or sad, Harry couldn’t tell. “It was nothing.” Malfoy stopped just before leaving. His gaze settled on Harry. “And good luck, with getting rid of the curse.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, again. After Malfoy had left, he sat for a while, just thinking. His time with Malfoy had sped by, the two of them sitting in a companionable silence. Even with the curse, it was the strangest thing to happen to him all week.

*

The next person Harry got stuck to was an old wizard who need to pee every five minutes. Harry was beginning to learn more about the various toilet habits of the whole of Level 2 than he had ever wanted to know. He was extremely thankful for Silencing Charms though.

As well as peeing, Edgar enjoyed talking about his job in the Improper Use of Magic Office. He was a real stickler for detail, and Harry found himself wondering if Edgar had been one of the people to get Harry into trouble for using magic whilst still underage. Mostly though, he found himself grinding his teeth out of a combination of frustration and boredom. At least the toilet breaks broke the flow of Edgar’s monologues.

As they were leaving the toilets yet again, Harry found himself eye-to-eye with Malfoy, who was walking down the corridor with a mug. After they passed, Harry turned back to see Malfoy staring after him.

*

After another fitful night’s sleep – in which he’d dreamed of being stuck to the Dolores Umbridge of his youth, in all her pink and tweed glory – Harry decided that perhaps it would be more sensible to work from home. He instructed Kreacher to come no closer than twelve feet, and settled in with a pile of paperwork in his study.

Hermione Firecalled at lunch time to see how Harry was doing, which was how Harry discovered that the curse could, indeed, be activated via getting too close when talking to someone on the Floo. In the end he had to wear his invisibility cloak to accompany her back to court after lunch, as she didn’t want his presence to upset her case. It was arse-numbingly boring, and Harry only got through the three hours of arguments and counter-arguments by trying to remember all the chocolate frog card names in alphabetical order.

Somehow, despite being desk-bound, Harry was actually falling behind with his paperwork, and when he got back home, there was an owl from Robards with various not-so-veiled comments about the department not meeting its monthly targets. Harry realised that he would just have to go back into work.

*

Early the next morning, just as the sun was rising, Harry stumbled into the Ministry atrium. No one was about, and he quickly made his way to his office – via the kitchen, of course: he couldn’t be expected to start his day without a decent cup of tea. By the time everyone else had arrived, he had stuck a big sign on his door stating: ‘CURSED. ONLY ENTER IF ITS AN EMERGENCY.’

Still, there were times he had to venture out. By now, word had obviously spread about the curse, and most times people would turn and run when they saw him coming. It was only a _little_ bit disconcerting.

A scratching, knocking noise caught Harry’s attention. Given that no one had knocked on his door all day, he was assuming that this would, indeed, be an emergency. Swinging the door open a little more forcibly than necessary, Harry found Malfoy, quill raised to eye level.

“Sorry, and yes, I know that I’ll be stuck to you now, but it’s worth it just to correct this mistake.” Malfoy leaned in past Harry, pushing him back a little. It was bit of a shock to feel the heat of Malfoy’s body as he pressed into Harry’s side. And it was only curiosity about what Malfoy was doing which stopped Harry from closing his eyes to properly appreciate the fresh scent that came with Malfoy’s proximity, because it did smell rather lovely. Like a walk in the woods, with just a hint of a particularly intriguing masculinity underneath—

Harry dragged his attention to what Malfoy was doing; he was biting his lip, eyes narrowed as he carefully finished drawing a small mark onto the sign Harry had made. Malfoy then stood back, and sighed in relief, a satisfied smile crossing his face. “Oh, yes, much better.”

“What?”

“Honestly, Potter.” Malfoy jabbed the sign with his finger. “It’s a contraction. It is. It-apostrophe-s. I’ve been itching to correct it since I saw it earlier this morning.” Harry just stared. So now Malfoy was some vigilante pedant? Malfoy walked past him. “I brought tea,” Malfoy announced, “I noticed that you seem rather reliant on drinking it throughout the day, and I also noticed that you haven’t been near the kitchen today.” Harry didn’t know how Malfoy had worked this out, but it was near enough to the truth, and the sight of two mugs of tea following Malfoy into the office was enough to distract him from trying figure out Malfoy.

“Yeah, come in,” said Harry, although Malfoy was already sitting in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk.

“Bit more spacious in here, isn’t it?” Malfoy ran his hand along the edge of the desk.

“It’s not actually my office, you know,” Harry felt compelled to say. He shut the door and made his way back to the huge armchair behind the desk, snagging one of the floating mugs before he sat down. He could still feel the warm pressure of Malfoy on his side.

“I bet it will be one day.”

Harry realised that he was staring again. Malfoy kept surprising him, with his startling tendency to say exactly what he was thinking. Also, Harry quite liked the hawk-like brightness Malfoy wore along with his look of amusement. There was a challenge to it, and it was a change from the fawning of people like Bob.

“Oh, come on. It’s no secret that the Minister himself consults you about half the changes made to the department already. This will be your office, and then the one next door.”

Harry thought of Robards at his desk, in the neighbouring office. Buried under paperwork, usually. “I really don’t want any—”

“You probably don’t, do you? Still, it will happen.”

Harry took a sip of his tea. He wasn’t really used to people doing the gossiping about him while he was there. “Is that what people say about me?”

Malfoy shrugged. “It’s what some of them say.” He pulled a scroll from within his robes. “I did bring some work with me. I’m sure you’ve got things to get on with, Potter.”

With a nod, Harry rifled through the various parchment forms on his desk. He really didn’t know what to make of this Malfoy. Something occurred to him, and he stopped. “This obviously isn’t Hogwarts.”

“True, you never interrupted me when I was writing there.”

Harry waved aside his words. “Most people just call me ‘Harry’, here, you know.”

“Oh yes. I have heard all about ‘Call me Harry’ Potter.”

“Well that extends to you, too.”

Malfoy fixed Harry with a cynical look. “It makes you sound like a politician, you know.”

“It’s not meant to. Anyway, you should. Call me ‘Harry’, that is.”

A pink wash suffused over Malfoy’s face. It looked incongruous: Harry only really had memories of Malfoy’s face heating in anger. A strange feeling of liberty overcame Harry as he realised that their schoolboy antagonism was a thing of the past. It was gone, and Harry didn’t miss it at all. Being insulted and thinking up insults seemed pointless after everything he’d been through, and it was a relief to find that Malfoy seemed to feel the same way. A little of the tension that Harry had been carrying with him since they had first bonded the day before faded away.

*

Luna brought Harry lunch, and stayed to eat with him as they chatted through her investigations. Harry chewed carefully on the surprise sandwich she had made for him: the surprise, apparently, was that she’d put anything she fancied into it. The first bite of cooked apple had been somewhat interesting, especially combined with a large chunk of raw onion.

By the time Harry had also eaten a chilli hot enough to make his eyes water, a piece of what appeared to be Christmas cake, and a boiled egg which, when he looked at the half remaining, was green inside, he had also found out that Luna didn’t know that much more. She seemed to be focusing on eliminating possibilities, which he knew was good methodology, but was also quite slow. He made a mental note not to eat her culinary efforts again, although he did appreciate her thoughtfulness in bringing him lunch.

*

The corridor was wonderfully quiet as he walked down to the lifts. The Ministry was empty, and Harry was tired. He was getting fed up of being trapped in the office, fed up of reports and paperwork, fed up of being stuck between avoiding people or being bonded to them for hours.

As he stepped out of the lift though, Harry saw that there were still a few people making their way to the bank of Floos. He was standing back, waiting for them to all be gone when the leaves of the large pot plant beside him began to rustle. Harry checked that his robes weren’t brushing them – Flutterby bushes did tend to be quite sensitive, even ones in busy areas like this – when Malfoy pushed his way round the edge of the plant. Malfoy’s mouth fell open in horror, and he flushed a rather deeper pink than he had that morning.

“Malfoy…”

“Not again!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I came back to pick up something I forgot.”

“You know that you’re—”

“Stuck to you, I know.”

They stood staring at each other. Which was a little strange, in the vast and empty space of the Atrium.

“I was about to go home,” said Harry, miserable at the thought of another two hours before he could relax. “You’ve been all right to bond to, but I don’t give out my address. I hope you understand.”

“Yes. No. I mean, yes, I understand. But, and no offence meant, there’s no way I’m spending my evening at work.”

Inspiration hit Harry. “A drink! How about a drink at the Leaky?” Malfoy hesitated, then smiled and nodded. As they turned away from the Floos, heading instead for the exit to the street nearest Diagon Alley, Harry paused. “Didn’t you need to get something?”

“What?” Malfoy asked. “Oh, yes. I said I did, didn’t I? Er…” He seemed to cast around for words, and Harry winced internally at the thought that Malfoy was trying to downplay his own needs. “It’s not important now. I– I can’t exactly settle down to an evening of work if I’m at the Leaky, can I?”

Harry was forced to accept this. He’d really had enough of work for the day, and he didn’t fancy sitting with someone reading through paperwork for the next two hours.

*

The Leaky was fairly quiet, but it didn’t stop the few people in there staring. Harry was used to a certain amount of attention, but he felt Malfoy stiffen beside him.

“People always stare,” Harry said, quietly enough that only Malfoy would hear. “It’s part of the joy of being the Chosen One.”

“The Wizard Who Lived Twice.”

“Yes, that too.” Harry grabbed Malfoy’s arm and steered him towards the bar. “Two pints, please, Tom.”

They found a quiet corner, and soon the normal chatter of the pub started up again, although Harry did notice the odd sly glance in their direction.

“It’s probably not just you being a hero that’s making people stare, you know. People do stare at me, too. And together…”

“We’re not about to start hexing each other like children, are we?”

“No.” A smile hovered on Malfoy’s lips, then disappeared. Harry remembered a pale face, and blood seeping onto a bathroom floor.

“Oh.” Harry shifted in his seat. “I am sorry about that. I was—”

“Young? Stupid?” Malfoy interrupted. “Don’t worry, I know all about being young and stupid. Remember when I broke your nose?”

Harry was uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. “Yes, but—”

“Look, we could sit here, exchanging terrible things we’ve done, but I’d only win, you know.” There wasn’t anything to say to that, because it was true, after all. “Now then, _Harry_ , I bet that in your head, and despite telling me to call you Harry, you still think of me as ‘Malfoy’, don’t you?”

The shifts in Malfoy’s moods were tricky to follow. Or rather, Harry was having difficulty adjusting to the fact that this was _Malfoy_.

“You do realise that all your thoughts pass across your face. Like right now, you’re wondering who I am, really: if there’s anything of the Malfoy you knew from school, in this stranger before you, right?”

“Er, yes?” Harry was little put out that he was so easy to read. It wasn’t exactly a sought-after skill for an Auror. “You really aren’t quite how I remember you.”

“Nor are you,” Malfoy retorted. “Anyway, if I have to call you ‘Harry’, you have to call me ‘Draco’. Perhaps,” he leant forward, and Harry could feel the heat of his breath as Malfoy lowered his voice to continue. “You’ll like Draco better than Malfoy.”

Heat rose through Harry; Malfoy was too close. Harry leant back, and Malfoy sighed. Malfoy’s glass, Harry noticed, was empty. “Another drink?” he asked, needing to put a little distance between them. This Malfoy – _Draco –_ was strangely unsettling with his over-familiarity and the way he smiled to himself as if he knew something that Harry didn’t. Of course, it wasn’t much of a reprieve as Malfoy had to follow him to the bar.

*

After two more drinks apiece, Harry announced: “I think I’m ready to try out the name, ‘Draco’.”

Malfoy – Draco – tilted his head and half-frowned, half-smiled. “I’m not sure that it suits you.”

“No, stupid.” Harry threw a beer mat. “Not you, me. No, that’s not right. Not me, you.”

“You’re still not right,” said Draco. “My name’s not ‘Stupid’.”

“Shurrup. _Draco._ ”

“Whatever you want to call me, I need to piss.”

Harry groaned. “Not you, too. Everyone always needs to piss when they’re stuck to me. It’s like the bloody bond makes their bladders full. Piss, piss, piss.”

As they staggered to the toilets at the back of the pub, a loud group of people came through the main doors.

“Harry!”

Harry turned, to see Seamus and mates staring at him. “What the bleedin’ hell are you doing with that tosser?” Harry turned to look at Draco, who had shrunk into himself a little

“Him?” Harry moved closer and draped an arm across Draco’s shoulders. “We’re pissed. Or pissing. Just had a few drinks. He’s alright. So just leave him alone, ‘kay?” Seamus looked between the two of them, and shook his head. He muttered something under his breath as he turned away, but Harry really didn’t care: it seemed that his bladder, too, was now fairly insistent about the pissing thing.

The relief as he peed cleared Harry’s head a little. Draco, stood beside him, staring ahead and still pale. Without thinking about it, Harry glanced down, at Draco holding himself, shaking off the last few drops of liquid. Immediately, Harry closed his eyes: he had a rule. No looking at work. No looking at colleagues. It was the drink, and he should just focus on what he was doing. Not look at Draco’s penis, or the way his fingers—

Harry swallowed. Going for a drink had been a _terrible_ idea.

Draco caught his eye in the mirror as they washed their hands. Their rather jovial, drunken camaraderie was broken; the harsh white light somehow dissolved the illusion that they were anything other than people who worked in the same building, two people who shared a rather complicated past.

Something about the grey tinge to Draco’s skin brought Harry back to the memory of another bathroom, of stress and tears and shouting and blood; so much blood. His hand trembled slightly as he turned the tap off. The alcohol in his bloodstream was making him feel unsteady.

When Draco spoke, his voice echoed off the tiled walls and sounded strangely far away. “Thank you. It’s– it’s been a long time since anyone’s said anything in my favour.”

“I—” Harry could just see Draco lying on the floor, the blood pooling around him. His throat felt tight. “It’s fine.”

He headed to the door more quickly than he’d meant to, but he needed to get out from under that cold light. When Draco caught up, he looked oddly crestfallen. “I think the bond’s going to end soon,” Draco said. “You moved further away before I _had_ to follow.”

Harry nodded: he’d felt the tug, but it had been weaker. They probably had another ten minutes stuck together, at most. Harry couldn’t help the relief that flooded through him at the thought that he’d soon be free. It was late, and he just wanted to go hide at home. He was feeling all unsettled, what with thoughts of secret glimpses of Malfoy’s penis and stupid spells _for enemies_ and the way his body was swaying slightly, the way he couldn’t quite keep still. “I need to go home.”

“You can’t Apparate.”

“Tom lets me use his Floo.” Draco raised an eyebrow, and Harry remembered to look bashful at admitting this. “Perk of being famous.”

“Everyone knows who I am, and believe me, no one lets me use their Floo.”

“It’s not exactly the same, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.” Draco got even quieter, and Harry could have kicked himself for saying anything.

“When the bond wears off, I’ll get stuck to the first person to come near me. Could you walk me to the Floo?” Harry suddenly realised that Draco was also probably too drunk to Apparate home. He couldn’t quite picture him taking the Knight Bus, either: he’d probably get beaten up by a little old lady with a handbag. “And, er, I’m sure Tom will let you use it, too.”

Draco snorted. “He will if you ask him to let me. Drunk or not, you’re still Harry bloody Potter.”

Once Harry was at home, even with the room spinning from the hideous combination of Floo travel and drink, he felt a little better.

As he fell asleep that night, he told himself that he really needed to find a way to get back out to work properly; without all the running around he normally did, he was beginning to break one of his most important rules. Never, ever, look at anyone at work as a potential… well, not even a grope. Just don’t look. When he could, he found Muggles to look at and touch and more. It was easier. And as for Draco sodding Malfoy, that was too much of a mess to even think about. No matter how pertly pink his todger.

*

Kreacher, bless his little tea-towel toga, had left Harry a vial of hangover potion along with a pot of tea and some toast. It almost made up for the monstrosity of an alarm clock which he insisted on setting for Harry on work days. Most days Harry didn’t mind, but that morning he had tried to Vanish it. Unfortunately, one of the Blacks had laid a complex set of charms on the stupid contraption, and it could not be destroyed. Harry should know: he had tried, on several occasions.

Still, when he stepped into the still-empty Atrium, Harry was thankful for his early start. He made it as far as the kitchen – tea was a necessity – before he saw anyone. Or rather before someone barrelled into the kitchen without looking, managing to scald Harry’s hand in the process.

Pain flared in Harry’s hand, and he hissed, He looked up, angry words on the tip of his tongue, but was completely thrown by the sight of Malfoy – Draco – all pink-faced and with his hair uncharacteristically awry. He appeared to be a little out of breath, too, if the huffing and puffing was anything to go by.

“Not you again!”

“I—” Draco stopped, holding one hand up while holding onto his side with the other. After a few more breaths he continued. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here! No one’s here! I just needed to finish that work from yesterday. Remember, the work I had to leave behind because of your stupid bond?”

“Oh.” Harry shrugged in irritation, because actually, at that precise moment, he didn’t really care about Draco’s work. He moved to the sink, thinking that cold water might be the answer to the burning throb in his hand.

“Yes, oh.” Draco’s eye widened as he saw the reddened skin on Harry’s hand. “Oh, shit, did I do that?” Before Harry could answer though, Draco had picked up Harry’s hand and was turning it this way and that, looking at it carefully in the light. His touch was gentle, almost tender, and so at odds with the slight brashness that Harry had come to associate with Draco that Harry just held his hand up, even when he winced as Draco’s fingers brushed the sore part.

Not letting go of Harry’s hand, Draco reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out his wand. He whispered a healing spell, and a cooling numbness spread across Harry’s hand, bringing him instant relief from the pain.

Harry was aware of Draco’s fingers, their hold on his hand firm and confident. He remembered seeing them, the night before, holding onto something else. “Th– thanks,” he mumbled, then withdrew his hand and turned to make more tea.

“You really are addicted to this stuff, aren’t you?”

It was too early for this. And Harry might not be hungover, but he was still tired. “I just want my cup of tea, and a chance to get my last few case reports finished, OK?

“Your place, or mine?”

Harry almost dropped his second cup of tea. It took a few moments for Harry to realise what Malfoy meant; in his mind’s eye, he saw sheets and skin. Even though he knew Malfoy meant desks and parchment. And now he was thinking of pushing up _against_ desks. Oh crumbs. “Er—”

“Although I do actually have some work to get on with. Not snoozing in an armchair, but actual money-in-a-Gringotts-account work to do.”

Bringing his attention back to Draco’s words, not paleness of his skin, Harry felt the need to defend himself. “Getting stuck to someone every five minutes doesn’t really go hand-in-hand with my work as an Auror, you know!”

“Yes, yes.” Draco sighed. “I know, you’re usually off saving the day. Or eating lunch with Weasley, or meeting the Minister for vaguely important meetings.”

Harry was about to protest at this summary of his working day, but it was actually rather accurate.

“Look, I need to grab my work from my office. Then we can retreat to your wood-panelled hideaway. And then you don’t need to worry about walking back when the bond wears off.”

It was a good plan, and Harry followed Draco, surreptitiously adjusting himself beneath his robes and making sure to cast an anti-spill charm on his tea, for good measure. Being all out of routine was obviously playing havoc with his usual work ethic: fantasising about pushing anyone up against that heavy desk was not his customary way of starting the day. But he was sure a cup of tea would do the trick and he’d forget all about it. He simply couldn’t picture anything rude while drinking tea; it was far too comforting a drink.

*

Draco’s project, it turned out, was some kind of timer that gradually changed colour before warbling like a song bird. It reminded Harry a bit of his alarm clock, in a much gentler incarnation; although the thought that any of the Blacks would have tampered with a mere Muggle artefact was laughable. Harry was pretty sure that his alarm clock had been hand-made by artisan wizards in the depths of Switzerland.

Before he knew it, half his desk was covered in small cogs and the quiet of the room was punctuated by muttered swear words. Some of Draco’s phrases were quite creative, and Harry smiled to himself as Draco’s hand slipped again and _FuckinguselessMugglecrappybuggeringtweezers_ echoed around the room. Draco was frowning in concentration, and because he had to keep his hands still, Harry could feel him tapping his feet instead.

Despite the interruptions – and the tapping – he was actually finding it nice to have the company, and finished the first of his reports faster than he would have done otherwise.

He was halfway through the second report when the office door swung open and Ron burst in.

“Harry! You in here? Seamus said he saw you in the Leaky with the fer—” He stopped as he saw Draco sitting opposite Harry.

“Yes, and I bumped into him again, this morning.”

“Bugger! I mean, er, that I was going to offer to bond with you. Oh, Merlin, that sounded wrong, didn’t it? You know what I mean, though.” Ron was still staring at Malfoy as if he was some form of interesting sea life. Or an actual ferret, sitting up with a magnifying glass in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. “Maybe I’ll come back later though. You know, so I can get stuck with you and so we can maybe go get an early bite to eat and er, catch up.”

“Actually,” said Draco. “I think that there’s not long to go until Harry’s a free man. And much as I’d like to stay and reminisce about our… delightful memories from Hogwarts, I need to collect these bits up and finish off at the office.”

By the time Draco had carefully put all the fiddly little bits back into their box, the bond had, indeed, worn off. Draco stopped by the door, face to face with Ron. “If you see your father soon, I’d appreciate it if you could pass on my thanks. The filing system that he left behind is a work of _genius_. Figuring it out has been one of the highlights of my career, so far.”

Ron and Harry stared at each other once they were alone together. “What did that mean?” asked Harry.

Ron shrugged. “I’ll have to ask Dad.” His eyes narrowed. “But what is happening, with Malfoy?”

“Happening? Nothing. I just got stuck to him.”

“Last night too?”

“Yes. It’s not exactly a neat or logical thing, this bond thing.”

“I guess not.” Ron grinned. “I hope you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve already been to the loo.”

“Oh, Merlin,” said Harry, putting his head in his hands. “It’s like being with a bunch of children. I hope you washed your hands.”

“Of course!”

“So what’s he like then?”

“Draco?”

“ _Draco_ is it now? When did that happen?”

“Um, you know. Being stuck to someone for hours on end. By the third time it’s only polite to call each other by name.”

“I can’t quite believe that you two haven’t come to blows yet.”

“I think it’s safe to say ‘been there, done that’. It’s quite nice _not_ being fifteen any more, you know. You might try it sometime.”

Ron stuck his tongue out at that, and they both looked at each other and laughed.

“Come on then, oh mighty no-longer-adolescent wizard. Give me a hand with my case and then I’ll buy you some cake. Or lunch, depending on how long this takes.”

It was a good to get stuck into something other than writing up old cases, and Harry relaxed easily into Ron’s company. He was still feeling restless about the bond, even though his day so far had been quite pleasant. It had still managed to disrupt his usual routine, and keep him from the more active, out-and-about, part of his work. He just wanted it to be over.

*

“I am running a test, Harry,” Luna said, but her words failed to reassure him. He’d got stuck to a witch called Linda on the way back from lunch with Ron, and Luna and Linda were now deep in conversation about Jobberknolls. Linda, it turned out, was an amateur naturalist, too.

In the interests of Linda’s Very Important Job, they were all sitting around in Wizengamot Administration Services. Harry was getting used to everyone else being more important than him, and although it was boring and more than a little frustrating, at least it was a slightly more honest appraisal of how important his job actually was. Maybe Draco was right, maybe there was more that he could be doing.

“So you’ve seen one, then?”

“Oh yes. Only twice, but it was an amazing sight.”

“Do they really have red-tipped wings?”

“They do. Although they move so fast that it is very hard to tell. The second one I saw settled for long enough to allow me the observation.”

“Wow, that sounds great!”

Harry ground his teeth. The worst thing about being stuck to people was that he had to be interested in their conversation. It wasn’t that Linda was boring, he just really didn’t care that much about Jobberknolls. All he really wanted was for Luna to find a cure.

“Actually, Harry,” said Luna, turning her attention back to him. “I think that I’ve narrowed it down enough to start being able to test some different potions and counter-charms in the next day or two. So that’s good, isn’t it?” She smiled brightly.

“Test?”

“Yes, well I am designing your cure from scratch, you know, Harry. This curse was very tightly constructed: it incorporates features of three different spells.”

“It does?”

Luna nodded, causing her carrot earrings to swing. “And unfortunately destroying the lawn mower would make it permanent.” Harry was still trying to get his head around the idea that the curse had been buried within the nuts and bolts of a _lawn mower_ , of all things. “I hope to have something for you by the middle of next week.”

“Brilliant!

“Yes, but, Harry, you do know that I can’t actually give you any guarantees.”

Harry felt himself deflate a little at her words. He was fed up with having his freedom restricted by this stupid curse. Staring off, across the room, he tried to find something positive to say instead of just more grumbling. A collection of witches and wizards were all watching them instead of working, but Harry’s gaze stopped on a familiar head of white-blond hair.

It was a shock, somehow, to see Draco, leaning over a desk, deep in whispered conversation with a witch: Harry had become accustomed to that quiet murmur being directed towards him. What really drew Harry’s attention though, was the expression on Draco’s face. He was scowling, as if he were not happy at all. Harry wondered just how badly Draco had just been told off about his Wizengamot submission, or whatever it was he was doing there. When Draco met his eye for a moment, Harry offered a nod and wave of acknowledgement, then reluctantly turned back to Luna and Linda.

“OK, then,” he said. “I guess I’ll just have to wait.”

Luna smiled benevolently, and returned to discussing Jobberknolls with Linda while occasionally checking her spell on Harry – which tickled a little – and making notes on her parchment.

When Harry looked back up, Draco was gone, and he was surprised by just how disappointed he was to have missed out on a chance to talk to the man he’d been getting to know that week.

*

Harry enjoyed a lie-in on Saturday morning. He had woken up with the room already filled with warm daylight, and the alarm clock mercifully silent. Although he’d never admit it to Hermione, at the weekends he often let Kreacher bring him breakfast in bed. On this occasion though, he couldn’t, as Kreacher was still banned from anywhere less than five feet from Harry. Instead of a pot of tea and some hot buttered toast, a scratching at the window got Harry out of bed; it was an owl.

It wasn’t too difficult to get his own breakfast, and Harry read his letter while the kettle boiled. He smiled as he read, because it was from Ron, and Ron’s owls were always the same. This one was no exception: short and to the point, but also covered in food and coffee rings. Harry guessed that he and Hermione had eaten marmalade with their toast, judging by the sticky orange smudge smeared down one side of the parchment. The invite for a visit to Diagon was also appreciated, as was the offer to share the bonding between his two friends.

*

Diagon Alley was busy with Saturday-morning shoppers. Harry was using the same Notice-me-not he always did when he wanted to move more freely. Even with the noise and bustle, Harry still felt more able to relax than he had done all week. Hermione was by his side, the sun was shining and for the next few hours he could pretend that nothing was wrong.

“So Ron tells me that you’ve ended up bonded to Malfoy, this week.”

Harry glanced sideways at Hermione. Her words were fairly bland, but he could see the light dancing in her eyes and the smile quirking at the edge of her mouth. “Yes,” he said, unsure about where this was heading.

“And?”

“It’s not like I have any choice about who I get stuck to.”

“But it was more than once, right?”

“Accidents, each time.” Harry frowned though: it had been, what, three, four times? “He just happened to be there at the wrong time.” He stopped walking, and someone jostled into him and muttered under their breath about idiots. Harry ignored them. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“Harry, I really don’t know. Probably. I mean, what possible reason could Malfoy have for getting stuck to you?”

“I– I– don’t know.” For some reason, Harry thought of Draco flushing, the pink blush spreading as he ducked his head. He shook his head to clear the image away. “He’s OK though. Not as quiet as I thought, and… quite good company, actually.”

Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes was filled with children and their parents. Ron was in a corner, doing what Harry could only describe as _playing_ with a toy wand. Ron was swinging it through the air leaving trailing arcs of sparks and petals. A group of enchanted-looking seven-year-olds were watching from afar; Harry assumed that Ron had got a bit grumpy when one of them had come too close.

“I keep telling him there’s a job here if he wants one,” George greeted them at the door.

“I suspect that it appeals to a certain part of him,” said Hermione, with an answering smile.

Harry looked at the nearest child, her fingers still curled through her father’s hand, but straining to watch Ron. “Isn’t it a problem that he only wants to play with your merchandise, not interact with the customers?”

George shrugged. “They love him anyway. And I’m here to sell Wheezes, not play.”

Harry grinned. Telling George that he played all day was always an easy way to wind him up. Ron looked up and saw them, and produced a cloud of feathers with a swish of the wand, to the not-so-secret delight of his crowd of admirers. “Hello! You have to see these, they’re new. Look!” And he stood up on his tip toes, reaching up to one of the hats gracing a high shelf. With a grin and a wink, he put it on his head and promptly turned completely purple. “It’s a Colour-Change Cap!”

Once they’d all had a go with the hat, and been up to the flat for a quick cup of tea and a chat, they made their way to Flourish and Blotts. Harry liked that they always followed the same routine when they visited Diagon Alley: George, books for Hermione, and then, much to Ron’s horror, on to the tearooms at Rosa Lee Teabag.

There was always a good selection of cakes at the teashop, and Harry was sure that it was the cakes that stopped Ron from grumbling throughout; secretly Harry thought that the teashop was actually one of Ron’s favourite meeting places. He just hadn’t reconciled himself with the overuse of doilies yet. Harry had no problem with doilies, as he was reminded of Mrs Figg, except with better cake and fewer cats (which was a considerable improvement, in his opinion: less chance of hairs in his tea).

Flourish and Blotts was fairly quiet, and the further into the tall shelves you got, the quieter it became. It must all be wizarding space, because it was far larger than most of the other shops on the street. If Harry took a step too far from Hermione, he felt the tugging in his stomach and would turn back to her. For once it wasn’t a completely unwelcome sensation, as he knew it guaranteed that he couldn’t get bonded to anyone else. Which was a good thing, as having to sit with someone for a couple of hours at work was one thing, but being stuck to some stranger on a Saturday afternoon was quite another.

It was a little boring though, as Hermione had headed straight for the wizarding History section. Harry had no idea whether she was looking for a book to help her research something from work, or just interested in finding out more about the past. Given how fascinated she’d been by Hogwarts’ history, Harry suspected it might be the latter.

He skimmed the titles in front of him, looking for something that might pique his interest. Hermione had taken down a huge tome and was propping it open on one arm, carefully turning the pages with the other. A shuffling sound made him turn around. Draco Malfoy was looking through a book a little further along the opposite shelves. Draco looked up, and his hand froze mid-page-turn. Harry felt a little sorry for him: after Hermione’s words earlier, he had an inkling how she might react when she saw Draco. She’d probably suggest that this was deliberate, him being here, whereas it was obvious from his wide eyes that he was just as much surprised as Harry was.

“Er, hi?”

A smile and a slight blush stole across Draco’s face. “Hi.”

Harry glanced over at Hermione, but she still had her nose buried deep in the book, and hadn’t noticed anything.

“Hi,” Harry said again. He took a step closer to Draco, wary of stretching his bond with Hermione, but he didn't feel anything so tried another step. This, too, was fine. “I don't know if I've ever seen you outside of work before. Except that one time, of course, at the Leaky…” Harry said, feeling awkward.

“I don't tend to go out too often. Just here, really.” Draco's shoes seemed to hold his interest, and the next few words were almost lost in a mumble. “People aren't that understanding about the whole 'ex-Death Eater' thing.”

It was strange seeing Draco so subdued when it was just the two of them: he hadn’t been like this at work, or even when they went out for that drink. Harry chanced another step forward, ignoring the faint pulling sensation in Hermione’s direction that started up inside him. He reached out to touch Draco's arm. “People can be idiotic, sometimes.”

Draco looked up, grey eyes filled with a frustration. “I know. But… it’s not exactly a stupid reason to avoid me.”

“Maybe in the past. But not now.” Harry's hand was still on Draco's arm, and he could feel the tension running through it. Harry gave it a faint squeeze before letting go.

“Hello, Malfoy,” Hermione said, having joined them without Harry noticing. He jumped a little. Her voice sounded so tightly controlled, that Harry couldn't tell if she was angry, or just trying to keep her views – whatever they were – to herself. “Sorry to interrupt, but, Harry, the time—” Hermione broke off, and looked down at the slim watch she wore on her wrist. She was anxious, and trying to hide it, that's what it was.

“It's a little after three,” said Draco, his eyes moving between Harry and Hermione.

“Actually, it's closer to half past,” Hermione said, still looking down at her watch. “Sorry, I got distracted by that book.”

“The teashop doesn't close for ages, we've got time.” Harry realised that he wanted to have a bit more time to talk to Draco.

Hermione shot him an exasperated glance. “Not the bloody tea, Harry. The bond.”

“I felt it just now, we should have time to swap with Ron,” Harry said, and Hermione looked a little mollified.

“I– I should leave you to it.” Draco stepped back, and ran a hand through his hair. It left him looking uncharacteristically ruffled, and Harry didn’t know if he wanted to see Draco like this more often, or if he wanted to pat it all back into place himself. “I'll see you at work next week, Harry.” He nodded at Hermione, then turned, and began to walk away. It only took another two or three steps for him to stop, though, as Harry felt the familiar tug in his gut, pulling in Draco’s direction.

“Too late then,” muttered Hermione.

Draco turned back, and raised his arms in a shrug. “I don’t have anywhere else to be, I can spare you a couple of hours.”

Harry was sure he heard Hermione say something like, _I bet you could,_ under her breath, but mostly he was focused on Draco. He still looked so small, somehow, and Harry wanted to see him open up again: he wanted the Draco who made jokes and who had a slight… cocky edge to him. Harry took a deep breath and tried to work out what to do next: he realised that there really was only one thing for it.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Tea.” Hermione said. “Is that always your answer?”

“We’ve seen George and done the bookshop: you don’t mean for me to miss out on my treat, too, do you?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Fine. But let me go find Ron and explain this to him.”

Harry and Draco were left alone as Hermione marched off, grumbling under her breath.

“She’s quite protective, isn’t she?” asked Draco, watching her go.

“Yes. She’s a great friend. But what now?” Harry’s eyes met Draco’s, and he noticed for the first time how Draco’s eyelashes were almost invisible, they were so pale.

“It sounds like I’m joining the Golden Trio for tea.”

The sound of a swearword shouted out from the other side of the shop made Harry close his eyes. Ron had heard then. “And cake.”

“Cake. Right.” Draco sounded uncertain. “Look, I’m sorry if this ruins your Saturday—”

“No! Don’t. Ron’s just a bit overly-dramatic, that’s all. I promise, he’s more likely to find this amusing than annoying.”

Draco did not look convinced.

“Honestly, it’s fine.” Harry reached out for Draco’s arm again. It was more still this time, as if Draco were feeling calmer. “And you’re not that bad, you know. As company.” The slow blush grew on Draco’s face again, and Harry decided that it would be worth paying him some more compliments at some time, just to see that reaction.

The cake of the day at Rosa Lee Teabags was a decadently rich lemon drizzle, and for a while they all focused on eating, obviously avoiding have to talk to each other. It was a far cry from their normal chat-filled visits.

“So have you got an embarrassing toilet story with Harry yet? I bumped into Sally-Anne the other day; poor woman couldn’t meet my eye.” Ron had finished his cake, and was now sitting back, watching Draco.

“Ron!” Hermione elbowed him.

“Sorry! It’s just Malfoy’s been stuck to him and—”

“Some of us are still eating, you know.”

“Oh no,” said Draco. Leaning back in his chair and giving Ron a dangerous smile. “He has nothing to be embarrassed about.” He winked at Harry, and Harry saw again the cheeky grin in the mirror as Draco made the insinuation about the size of Harry’s dick. He felt his face heat, and wished that the floor would open and swallow him up. Ron’s eyes widened, then he let out a hearty laugh.

“Right. Safer subjects then. Er…”

“How did you end up with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, Draco?” asked Hermione. Harry flashed her a smile of thanks, both for asking the question and for using Draco’s given name. He sat back to listen to Draco’s tales of Muggle living, and realised just how tight his shoulders were. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax a bit. However disastrous this could have been, so far, it was fine.

*

Arthur Weasley laughed until everyone else in the room was staring, when Ron mentioned with a sly grin that he’d heard that someone had figured out his old filing system.

“Oh, I have been waiting for _years_ for someone to work out my system,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“What’s so special about it?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “All cases involving eckeltrical items are listed with Muggle song titles as their names. All cases involving mechanical items are listed with Muggle book titles. So lightbulbs were filed under ‘You Light up my Life’, hair clippers under ‘Short Cuts’, and so on.” Shaking his head as he smiled to himself, he asked, “So who worked it out then?”

“Er…” Ron sought Hermione’s, then Harry’s, eyes before continuing. “It was Draco Malfoy actually, he works there now.”

There was a clang as Molly dropped the serving spoon in her hand. “Draco Malfoy?”

“Yeah.” Ron looked a little terrified. But then again, Harry could remember Molly as she’d faced down Bellatrix. Draco’s aunt. Harry noticed that Hermione had moved a little closer to Ron, and guessed that they were holding hands under the table. He wished that he had someone to hold hands with, too. He felt uneasy at discussing someone whose company he’d enjoyed so much this week. They all waited to hear what Molly would say next.

“What’s he doing at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office? Isn’t that like– like Percy joining a group of anarchists?” Molly asked. Her voice was oddly neutral, and Harry couldn’t tell what she was thinking, or feeling.

All eyes focused on Ron, but it was Hermione who spoke up. “He doesn’t speak to his parents anymore.”

“And he lived as a Muggle for a few years,” Harry said, feeling that he should defend Draco, too.

“You say he worked out my filing system?”

“He said it was ‘a work of genius’,” Ron replied, beginning to look a little more hopeful.

“You need to know a lot of Muggle culture to guess how it works,” Arthur said slowly.

“I think…” Molly looked over at Arthur, who smiled gently. “I think that it’s good that you young ones are moving on.”

“Genius? Really?” Arthur said to Ron, looking quite pleased with himself, and there was a gentle murmur of laughter from his family.

Forks began to clatter and knives to scrape: it was as if the room began to breathe again. Harry looked down at his own plate, at the roast potatoes and gravy, and the Yorkshire pudding and beans, so mundane, so comforting. He hadn’t realised that he’d been holding his breath, or that he cared quite so much what Arthur and Molly thought about his fr— about Draco.

Harry was quiet for the rest of the meal.

*

It was impossible to buy a cup of coffee without the risk of getting bonded to a complete stranger – a Muggle, at that – so Harry had to forego his Monday coffee. He Flooed directly to the Atrium, and made his way through the still-empty Ministry. When he’d woken up that morning, the sky outside had been low and grey, and it looked like it would be one of those days filled with endless drizzle that did little to lift the spirits. Harry wanted to go out into the field; he’d finished all his paperwork, and wasn’t quite sure what work was left. Something horrible and boring, he was sure.

He’d never admit it, but starting his Monday with tea was a relief. It wasn’t that he didn’t like coffee, but more that each sip of tea was hugely comforting. It made him think of Hagrid and Hogwarts, of stolen moments when the Dursleys were out, and of the familiar warmth of Grimmauld Place. He loved that he had somewhere to call home, somewhere that was his. And tea was part of it: a hot pot of tea in the kitchen on a day like this was a wonderful thing.

With no more work to do, by ten o’clock he was reduced to building towers using the collection of Chocolate-Frog cards he’d found in a desk drawer. By then Harry had looked through the entire office already: what did they expect, leaving him there all day with nothing to do? He was interrupted from placing the final two cards when there was a knock on the door. Harry paused, hands mid-air. “Come in!”

As the door handle twisted and the door began to open, Harry hoped to see a pale and newly-familiar head peer round. But instead it was the darker blonde of Luna.

“Don’t look so disappointed to see me!” Luna sat down opposite Harry. “I’ve got some biscuits for you. And some good news.”

“Ruled out more possible cures?”

“Yes. And don’t be so miserable, Harry, it doesn’t suit you. Here—” She produced a plate from within the recesses of her robes, “have a biscuit.” She took one and nibbled at one corner.

Harry felt bad for having been rude. He reached for a biscuit. “Sorry, it’s just been a week and I’m getting a bit fed up—”

“I know. Which is why I’ve come to tell you that I think that I’ve worked out the Counter-Curse!” Luna beamed at Harry. A rush of happiness lifted him, and he forgot all about the tower of cards, accidentally knocking it with his arm. He barely noticed the cards falling back onto the desk. He needed a moment to process this: it was finally over.

“I really do think that this will work.”

Harry smiled at Luna. “Brilliant. So what did you find out? Can you do it now?”

“I can, but first we need to do a bit of preparation. I need to check you over for any other curses or enchantments; that’s standard practice.”

He took a bite of his biscuit, and almost spat it straight out again. “Er, Luna…”

“Yes?”

“What kind of biscuits are these?”

She smiled proudly. “Caramel and Gherkin.”

“Oh, yes, that’s what it is.” He took another bite, and chewed slowly. “Both chewy and crunchy.”

“Exactly! And doesn’t the extra chilli add just the right kick to it all?”

Harry nodded, too busy blinking his watering eyes to answer. Luna looked pleased with his response, and Harry managed a weak smile.

“Anyway, enough about biscuits. You just sit back and enjoy a rest while I test to make sure I can go ahead with the counter-curse.” Luna drew a web of pink light around him, and Harry felt the tingle of magic sweeping over his skin. She nodded in satisfaction to herself, and he guessed that he was all clear.

“Now, do you remember that I said that the curse was made of three components?”

Harry nodded.

“It really was rather clever, and some of the spells were a little old-fashioned: apparently that lawn mower has been in Room 8 for years, and the curse has probably lain dormant since then. Whoever put the curse on the lawn mower was keen to get some rather interesting specifics down.” She picked up a biscuit and gave it a thoughtful chew. “First of all, there was the temporal element to it.” She waved her biscuit in the air for emphasis. “You had a delay of a few days before the curse came into effect, didn’t you?” Before Harry could respond, Luna went on. “And then the bond only lasted for two hours. The caster used an adapted Curzon-Moncrieff timing charm to achieve both the delay, and the limit on each bond. The charm was popular in the Sixties, you don’t really see it much nowadays. Fascinating stuff though, it’s been great having a chance to delve into all this magical history.”

So far, this all made sense, and Harry gestured for Luna to continue.

“Then there was the distance issue. The bond wasn’t triggered by touch, nor did it manifest as a need for actual physical contact, just a general proximity. This bit was more tricky to unravel. Luckily, my experiences with Wrackspurts were helpful in figuring it all out.”

Harry felt a brief flicker of alarm at the mention of Wrackspurts. And then he remembered that Luna was an Unspeakable, and she probably knew a lot more than he about the improbable.

“Thirdly, there were the sensations felt by you and the person you became bonded to. In your case, a tugging, in their case, an invisible wall keeping them no more than two feet from you.” A corner of biscuit flew off as she gesticulated. “I would speculate that this last element makes this a love-charm, in some ways.”

“In a lawn mower?”

“I know. What goes through the mind of someone who sets a curse? Maybe they were enamoured of their neighbour’s lawns.” She drew a potions vial, a roll of parchment and a book from another of her voluminous pockets. “So, as I said, there are three elements to the counter-curse. A potion, to counter-act the tugging, arithmancy calculations to realign your temporal connection to others, and a finally, a specialised Bond counter-charm, calibrated to match the calculations I’ve made. You will need to take the potion, while sitting in a diagram I draw on the floor. Then I’ll do the spell. It will take about half an hour, and I have to repeat certain parts a specific amount of time, so please don’t interrupt me. Oh, and it might make you feel slightly nauseous, but the chilli and caramel should help with that.”

They rolled up the large rug at the centre of the room, and Luna drew a complicated overlapping set of shapes with chalk, consulting her parchment of notes as she did so. Once it was complete, she gave him the potion vial to hold in one hand, and another biscuit to hold in the other.

Luna watched Harry as he drank the potion. It tasted… sweet, actually, but also faintly sour, like fruit gone bad. It was also thick and slimy, and Harry wasn’t sure if this was the bit she’d meant, but the unmistakable stirrings of nausea were rolling through his gut by the time the vial was empty. He ate some biscuit, and strangely, the tingly crunch sweet and sour sensation overrode the taste of the potion, and left his mouth feeling refreshed.

Quietly, Luna began to read the spell aloud, her wand tracing the shapes on the floor in the air between them. Harry felt as if he were swaying gently, as if on a boat, and he felt a little queasy again. The biscuit worked a second time, for which he was grateful.

When Luna stopped chanting half an hour later, Harry was able to move more than two feet away from her, and he was beyond thankful.

She left him with a plate full of biscuits and a huge grin across his face. He was supposed to rest for a while, so Harry sat back and closed his eyes, and did just that.

*

Robards was the next person to knock on the door. “So I hear that you’re back in commission, Harry?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“I’ve got a case for you.” He threw a file down onto the desk. “As soon as you’ve collected your things, you can head out.”

Harry grinned. “I can’t wait to get back out into the field, sir.”

“No, I shouldn’t wonder that you’re a little sick of being cooped up in here.” He sighed. “I know the feeling.”

Gathering up his collection of quills and parchment, empty mugs, and case folders wouldn’t take long, and the office was quieter than his desk outside, so Harry decided to read through the case file before going back out to the main office.

_Reported possible Basilisk breeding: rumours of eggs in Dartmoor._

 

Harry smiled. This looked interesting, and the type of job that he was best-placed to handle. He sat back in the chair, making a few notes to follow up as he went through what there was of the file.

*

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but his parchment was covered in scrawled notes, and Harry had decided where he’d start his investigation. It felt good to have something to get his teeth into again, and a thrill of excitement caused Harry to tap his feet even as he closed his eyes to plan out exactly what he’d do next.

The door opened so quietly that Harry almost didn’t hear it. He was feeling good, and it took a moment to open his eyes to see who it was. Draco stood by the door, looking excited.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” Draco held up something shiny.

Harry grinned. “Me, too. I’m free! Luna worked out how to lift the curse and it’s gone! She’s really clever, you know.”

Draco’s smile dropped a little. “Oh. Great. And of course she’s clever; how do you think she got sorted into Ravenclaw?”

“I got the Sorting Hat to change which house I ended up in.” Harry tipped his head back in defiance.

“There is no way that you are anything other than a Gryffindor.” Draco shook his head as if he were trying to work out which other house Harry could possibly have been placed in.

“What’s your surprise?”

“Oh, this?” Draco’s hand was still clutched tightly closed. “It… it’s not important now.”

“What was it?”

“It was a timer, for you, which would have told you how long you had left before each bond wore off. I had it charmed to change colour, and, er, I’d tried to align it a little to the magical signature of the curse.”

“Is that what you were working on, before?” Harry asked, and Draco nodded.

“I… I thought it might make things a little easier for you.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. It seemed… it was a thoughtful gesture. Or it would have been, if he needed it. “I… you didn’t need to.”

“I know. I just remembered that I had this timer – originally it was just for knowing when cakes were baked – and I thought it might be useful.”

“It would have been. Thank you.”

“So… I’m not stuck to you, then?”

“No, you’re not. And actually…” Harry began to gather up his things, “I’m sorry, but I need to get going on this case. I– I guess that I’ll see you around.”

“OK. Bye then.” Draco was all pale again, like he’d been that time in the Leaky. He shoved the timer deep into some pocket, and turned to leave.

“Bye.” Harry gave Draco a bit of a distracted wave, and turned back to the desk. He bit his lip: he would rather spend the time with Draco, but he really didn’t have the excuse any more. And he did need to get on with this case. It wasn’t fair, but he couldn’t force Draco to spend time with him – the curse had done that enough already.

When Draco got to the door, Harry heard him stop. He looked up, and he wanted to ask Draco to stay, or to meet him later, but he didn’t know how to ask without it sounding like more than it was. Draco, too, looked like he was about to say something. But then a question to ask Peg Leg Joe came to mind and Harry glanced down to see if he’d written it already.

When he looked up, he saw that Draco had left, without saying anything. Harry stared at the empty doorway, and sighed. Summoning the empty tea cups littering the room, he tried to put Draco from his mind: Harry had work to do.

*

Peg Leg Joe was, it transpired, somewhat of a slippery eel, and Harry ended up staying in Devon for the next few days. He barely stopped to eat. He didn’t even get much of a chance to have a cup of tea, but when he did, he thought of Draco, quiet and serious but with a hint of laughter in his eyes. Harry tried to write a note, but just didn’t know what to say in it beyond ‘you were OK to get stuck to’, so in the end sent nothing. By Wednesday he’d got to the point that he could call in back-up to go and raid the Basilisk farm: they found a couple of wizards but nothing that actually resembled a Basilisk. What they had managed to breed Harry handed over to the Beasts Division. He fervently hoped that Hagrid never saw them: Merlin only knew what he’d do with a winged snake.

Harry sat at his desk – his normal one, amongst all the others in the Auror office – trying to write his report on his investigation. It had all been over satisfyingly quickly, but now he was back to the parchment-and-quill part of his work, and Harry was in need of distraction. Or refreshment. Ron was on an assignment in the Outer Hebrides, so Harry made his way to the small kitchen alone, and made himself a cup of tea. Something though, was missing, and it wasn’t just that Ron wasn’t around. Harry missed chatting to Draco.

After making another cup of tea, Harry headed down to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. He knocked on the door, and it was answered by a very short witch with wispy black hair. Vague memories of seeing Draco talk to her came to mind, but no name.

“Ooh, Auror Potter, how can I help you?”

“I was just looking for Draco.”

She shook her head. “He’s not here.” She leant forward, a little conspiratorially. “He’s been in a terrible mood this week, and has decided that it’s time someone sorted out Room 8. You know, after what happened to you.”

“Really?” Harry remembered the chaotic mess of shelves. “Thank you, er…” He really was terrible with names.

“Karen.” She didn’t look annoyed, luckily, more amused, than anything else.

“Thank you, Karen. Here…” He thrust forward the extra cup of tea. “You can have this.” She accepted with a nod and a smile, and Harry set off again to find Draco.

When he got to Room 8, Draco wasn’t there, although some of it did look a lot tidier than it had before. Harry wondered if everything was sorted according to Arthur Weasley’s filing system. Standing in the doorway as his tea cooled, Harry realised that he was waiting for Draco to appear. When he didn’t, Harry was left to return to his paperwork, feeling strangely unsatisfied at not having been able to find his friend.

*

They got in the same lift the next day. Harry didn’t know whether to be relieved that he’d finally caught up with Draco – it had only been a few days – or bad that he hadn’t managed to sooner. His mind went back to the note he’d scrunched up earlier that week. The space felt smaller than normal, even though they were the only two in the lift. Draco was tapping his fingers on the side of his robes, and Harry hid a smile at Draco’s need to always be moving.

“I came looking for you yesterday.” Harry chanced a look over at Draco, but he was still staring ahead, with that studied bored expression he wore when annoyed.

“I heard, but I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Draco’s fingers stopped tapping, and Harry swallowed, uncertain about what would come next. Draco asked, “Do you… do you want to get some lunch, later?”

Harry knew that he was being sent out on another case, and that it would be another week before he could consider going out for lunch. He shook his head, disappointed. “I can’t. Sorry. I’ve got a case—”

“It’s fine.” The tightness of Draco’s lips suggested it was anything but fine; Harry didn’t quite know what to say next. He didn’t know how to say _No, it’s not fine, I would like to have lunch with you, I just can’t, not if I’m freezing my bum off on some hill in Staffordshire._ It was just his job. It seemed to him that without the bond, perhaps it wasn’t so easy after all, spending time with Draco. They parted without saying much more when the lift doors opened.

In the end, Harry found Draco in the kitchen one evening, near the end of the following week, after returning from yet another day-long stake-out to file an urgent report for Robards. He gritted his teeth a little, thinking about the Head Auror. It was as if Robards was trying to make up for Harry having been desk-bound while under the curse. Pushing his shoulders back, trying to ease the strain of sitting under a Disillusionment spell for six hours straight, Harry happened to look in the kitchen as he walked back to the lift on his way home. Draco was standing by the kettle, waiting for it to boil. Harry stopped, and leant against the doorway.

“You’re here late.”

Draco dropped his spoon. He turned, and frowned. “As are you.” They stared at each other, neither speaking, as the whistle of the self-boiling kettle filled the room.

“Are you going to get that?”

“What? Oh.” Draco picked up the kettle. “I suppose that it’s a stupid question, but I’ll ask, anyway: do you want some tea?”

Harry nodded.

Draco’s office was more cramped than Harry remembered, but the chairs were comfortable. Harry sat back, and closed his eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult, after all. He had tea; he had a chance to see if he could talk to Draco without being forced to by some stupid curse.

“So you sorted out Room 8?”

Draco smiled, but it was little strained. “Yes.”

“I would have come sooner, but I’ve been really busy—”

“I know.” Draco sighed. Harry wasn’t sure that it was going to work, talking to Draco without the enforced time together.

“Look, let’s not talk about work. It’s late, and I’m tired.” Harry gave Draco a small smile, trying to show that he had missed his company, that he just wanted to sit and drink tea and chat. “I heard a joke the other day.”

“A joke?” Draco looked bemused.

“Well, I heard it at work, but I thought it was funny.”

“Go on.”

“Why don’t owls mate in the rain?” Harry sat back, nodding for Draco to respond.

“I don’t know, why not?”

Harry grinned. “Because it’s too wet to woooo!”

Draco shook his head slowly. “Are all your jokes like this?”

“Yes,” said Harry. “But you have to admit that it’s funny.”

They drank tea, and exchanged more bad jokes. The mood in the room changed, and Harry sank down a little into his chair; he’d forgotten just how relaxing this was, joking with a friend. He looked at Draco, who was in the middle of telling a joke about mangoes in a bar. When Harry was still guffawing and shaking his head at the awfulness of the joke, Draco pulled out a secret stash of chocolate biscuits. “Karen doesn’t think I know about these,” he’d said. Seeing Harry hesitate as he reached out to take one, Draco added: “I’ll replace them tomorrow.”

Harry’s immediate reaction on being handed a biscuit was to gaze longingly at his tea cup, now empty. “Er, any chance of a refill?”

Draco sighed, but took Harry’s cup, and his own, and headed to the door. “Of course, O Mighty Chosen One.”

“Shut up.” Harry smiled. “You know you don’t need to do that.”

“I know,” said Draco, and he walked out after giving Harry a cheeky grin. Harry decided that he really liked that grin: it was the look that defined this new Draco. Confident, funny, warm.

Without Draco to fill the room with his little movements, it felt empty. Idly, Harry looked down at the desk by his side. The stack of parchments were, on closer inspection, various forms and reports. Except for one piece of parchment, on which Harry could see just a corner of scrawl. Looping letters, forming… Harry craned his neck to get a better view. Forming his name. _Harry_. It was probably nothing. A report on the incident in Room 8. Except that there weren’t any of the heavy black lines of a Ministry report. His name got written everywhere. But this was in Draco’s handwriting, and Harry’s chest felt tight.

The room was silent, as Harry looked at the tantalising corner. Seeing his name was like an invitation, calling his curiosity to slide out the parchment, ever so gently with his finger. Idly, almost by accident really – he’d only pulled the parchment out an inch or so – he read the first line. And then Harry really couldn’t help it, he had to read on, and, one ear out, he placed a steadying hand on to the top of the stack, then with his other hand gripped the edge of the note and pulled it out another inch.

It was a letter, to him, from Draco. Knowing that Draco was about to return, he skimmed the lines. A few phrases jumped out: _I can see that you don’t remember, Harry,_ and _I thought we could be friends,_ along with the heart-stopping _~~and maybe more~~. _ When Draco returned, Harry was sitting in his chair, staring into his empty cup. He was trying to keep calm, but his heart was pounding and his thoughts were a spiralling mess of confusion.

Once Draco was sat down again, Harry asked the question that was foremost on his mind.

“I– I’d like to think that we’re friends, aren’t we?” Harry could hear the waver in his own voice, and took a sip of hot tea in an effort to regain his composure.

“Harry, are you all right?” Draco looked concerned. “You’ve gone a funny colour. Is it the tea? Did I make it wrong?” His hand began to twist at the hem of his sleeve.

“What? No, the tea’s fine.” Harry was uncomfortable, knowing that he’d looked through Draco’s papers, that he’d seen something personal. “I just—” He closed his eyes and swallowed. He couldn’t lie to Draco, it wasn’t fair, not with everything in their past. What trust there was between them was fragile and new, and it couldn’t be based on anything but the truth. “I saw something on your desk,” he said quietly. “I saw my name, written down.”

The colour drained from Draco’s face, and he sat up, stiff and looking angular rather than just lean and tall as he normally did. His gaze travelled to the pile of papers, and immediately settled on the letter Harry had found. He didn’t say anything, and Harry found the silence harder to bear than an accusation, or angry words.

“I didn’t mean to pry. I didn’t realise that it was personal—”

“It’s all right,” said Draco, dully. “I wrote it to you, so…” He looked up. “I just didn’t send it.”

Harry thought back to the scrawled note he’d written in Devon, the difficulty of finding the words to express what he wanted to say. “I wrote you a note, too. That I didn’t send, obviously. When I was away, after the curse was broken. I wanted to know, I guess if we could be friends.”

Draco rubbed his hands through his hair. It was a mess, and Harry wondered how it would feel, to touch it. “I wrote that letter a long time ago, Harry.” He let out a long breath, and looked down at his hands, now worrying away on his lap.

The pain in Harry’s chest grew, and he had to make himself remember to breathe in, and out.

Draco looked up, and sighed. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Don’t remember what?”

“If you’re asking, then you don’t remember.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Harry, your face is like an open book. I’ve told you that before. I can _see_ that you don’t remember.”

“Enlighten me, then.” Harry realised that he was fiddling with the edge of his Auror robes, just like Draco.

“It was an office party—”

“A party?” Harry frowned. “I– I remember talking to you. But that was, what, a year ago? You apologised, we cleared the air.”

“I’m glad that you remember that.” Draco nodded, and smiled, if a little wearily. “But there was more.”

“More?”

“We’d both been drinking. We’d had this awkward, emotional talk, and there was no one else about – someone was making a speech, I think in another room. Do you remember that?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn’t – he really only remembered talking with lots of other people milling about. He did remember that he’d been knocking back the firewhiskies though; he couldn’t remember the exact details of their conversation, it was all a little hazy. “No, sorry.”

“We were talking, and— Merlin, this isn’t easy.” Draco took a deep breath, turning to face Harry fully as he exhaled. “I told you that… as well as being sorry, I regretted… not knowing you better. I– I’d seen you, out and about. In Muggle London. Late at night. When I was out late, too.” He paused meaningfully. Out? Late? Oh…

“You… you mean that you’re gay, too?”

Draco nodded, keeping up eye contact with Harry. When he spoke, it was slowly, as if each word was carefully considered. “I don’t hide it. You just don’t know me that well.”

Harry was trying to make sense of all this. “So you tried to tell me that you thought we could be friends because we both like to cruise at Muggle bars?”

“No! I– I didn’t want to be friends.”

“So, what? You just wanted an excuse to mock—”

“You idiot, I liked you.”

“Oh.” The walls seemed to be closing in, and Harry could feel the thump of his heart beating: he was surprised that the sound of it didn’t fill the room.

“And you don’t even remember that night, do you? I came into work the next week, and you walked past me as if nothing had happened.”

A cold feeling of panic drove Harry’s next question. “Did I sleep with you?” He wasn’t sure whether it was the thought that he might have slept with Draco, or the worry that he could have forgotten such a thing that drove the fluttering, leaping sense of dread. He thought again of skin and parchment, and tapping fingers and knowing grins and a felt a pang of… loss? Regret? He wasn’t sure.

“What? No.” Draco looked affronted. “We just… had a moment of connection.”

“A moment of connection?” Feeling light-headed, Harry forced himself to take a deep breath, and release it. A connection… yes, that was a good way of describing this new friendship.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“After you had just forgotten even a conversation with me? What would I have said?”

“You could have…” Harry trailed off. He had been so involved with his work, he would probably have shrugged off any approach from Draco. For friendship, or anything else.

“I watched from a distance, as you settled into your life of tea drinking.” Draco smiled a crooked little half-smile. “I’m not entirely convinced that it’s really you, you know. Doing the same things, your safe little routine, day in, day out.”

Harry tried to catch up with what Draco was saying, but his mind was still stalled around the news that Draco was gay, too. And the news that Draco had liked him. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because you want to be friends, but it’s all fake: it’s just been because of this curse. Without it, you would have carried on walking past me without really seeing me, day after day. And I would still be watching you from a distance.” As Draco spoke, all of the times Draco has just popped up and become stuck to Harry came to mind. Coming back to pick something up. Arriving at work early. Browsing for books in Flourish and Blotts…

“It wasn’t an accident, was it? Any of the times you got stuck to me.”

There was a defiant glint to Malfoy’s eyes as he answered. “No. But I didn’t set the curse, before you ask. It’s– when I saw you stuck to that woman, I knew that I couldn’t let you get stuck to just anyone. And I– I wanted to know if I had imagined it all. I wanted to know if you could like me. Or maybe… maybe I just wanted to get to know you a bit better, to cure me of this stupid crush.”

“Did it work?” Harry asked, very quietly.

“I– I don’t know. But I think it doesn’t matter: it was all fake. It wouldn’t have happened without the forced bond. I– I wanted it to be real.”

“Fake? No—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Harry. I can be honest enough with myself to know that you would never have spared me a second thought if you hadn’t been stuck to me. We’d already made our peace with each other, and you forgot! I should have known…”

Harry didn’t know what to do. Draco was frowning, and he was actually wringing his hands, and Harry just felt a churning sense of confusion.

“We can still—”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Draco sighed. “Just go. Please. Go back to your normal life. You’ll be fine; I’ll be fine.” He refused to look back up at Harry, and just kept worrying away with his hands, long fingers rubbing across his knuckles.

Harry left, and he wasn’t fine. He was didn’t know what he thought, or felt, and none of it made sense to him. Crawling into bed, Harry decided to see if it all made more sense the next day.

*

It was raining heavily when Harry woke up. He could hear it, battering against the windows, and he rolled over and pulled his blankets over his head. At least it was a Saturday, and he could stay in bed a while longer. And no stupid alarm either. The thought of his alarm reminded him of Draco though, fixing up a timer to help him manage the curse, and Harry groaned.

Draco had liked him. Harry had forgotten an important conversation. And now? Harry didn’t know. Whatever might have been, the moment had passed. Maybe he could salvage a friendship out of this mess. He thought back on everything that Draco had said to him, not just the night before, but also over the past few weeks.

Maybe Draco was right. Maybe Harry’s life was a little too safe, a little too predictable. Perhaps it was time for a change.

*

He tried honey instead of marmalade on his toast, but it just wasn’t right. And Earl Grey with lemon didn’t hit the same spot as a good old-fashioned British cuppa with milk.

Harry’s mind wandered back to Draco’s sly grin in the bathroom. He saw again the warm smile as he greeted Harry, and the safety poster with notes tacked to the office wall. He recalled the man with the love of correct punctuation, and the way Draco would flush pink when receiving an unexpected compliment. They’d only really been friends for a week, but could it have been something more? If Harry had known, if he’d remembered?

It seemed futile, the speculation, but it wore away at Harry, like an itch under his skin.

*

Harry was practically bouncing by the time Ron walked into his kitchen later that day. “I’ve had four coffees,” Harry announced. “I wanted to see what it would be like if I drank coffee, instead of tea.”

“Oh, for… Merlin’s bum cheeks! Are you sure that curse the other week didn’t do something funny to your brain?”

“Draco said that it wasn’t me, always being the same, sticking to the same old things all the time. Like the tea.”

“Did he now?” Ron gave Harry a hard look, his eyes narrowing.

“And he told me that he liked me, but that it didn’t count, because it was all fake.”

Ron sat down, and reached for the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Harry sighed and stopped bouncing. “I think that I’ve cocked this all up.”

“I– I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m sure you haven’t. You two seem to get on fine. Which is a miracle really, considering that everything that happened during the w—”

“Do I hide that I’m gay?”

Ron looked a little shocked at the question, and paused mid-stir. “Not to us, but…“

“But what?”

With a sigh, Ron looked Harry straight in the eye. “You don’t ever talk about going out, or going on dates, or even about being interested in anyone. Especially not at work. People see you, and they just think of Harry Potter, tea-drinker, Voldemort’s Vanquisher, committed Auror: whatever. Not Harry Potter, available single wizard, gay or not.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t think that it really matters though, Harry. I mean, I’m sure if you met the right pers—” Ron closed his eyes as a look of horror settled about his face. “It’s Malfoy, isn’t it?”

“I think it might be,” Harry whispered.

Ron gave Harry a pained look. “I hate to be the one to say this, but… you could do worse.”

That strange leaping sensation had started up again in Harry’s chest, and he didn’t think it was the coffee. “You don’t mind?”

“He’s… acceptable, Harry. And he clearly likes you—”

“How can you know that?”

“He got ‘accidentally’ bonded to you, what, two, three times in the past week?”

“Five,” muttered Harry.

“And he really isn’t as bad as he used to be, although I still can’t believe that my dad is somehow _proud_ of him. Stupid filing system. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Go easy on the coffee, OK? You’re a little scary when you’ve got this much caffeine in your system.”

The fluttering, jittery feeling remained after Ron left, but Harry had decided. He was going to do this. He was going to find Draco.

*

Draco, Harry realised, had shown that he had been very observant of Harry’s little routines. He had known where Harry would be: how else had he managed to pop up and get bonded to him so many times? Harry, on the other hand, didn’t know where he could find Draco. Admittedly, he wasn’t thinking too clearly, and he was still feeling a touch on the… frenetic side, after all the coffee. Going back over all their interactions, he finally remembered Draco saying something about only going out to Flourish and Blotts – in the wizarding world, anyway.

Harry made his way straight there, in the hope that just maybe he’d see Draco. He ‘browsed’ the shelves for almost two hours, ignoring the occasional bout of whispering from behind the till. Every time the bell above the door rang, every time the door opened, Harry would peer around the shelves to see if it was Draco. Finally, cloak wet with rain, Draco walked in. Harry cornered him in Ancient History.

“Maybe I don’t want to be a free man.”

“Honestly, Harry, that is the most ridiculously corny line I have ever heard.” A smile hovered at the edge of Draco’s lips.

“It wasn’t fake, you know.” Harry shook his head, before Draco could interrupt. “I know, you’re right, I wouldn’t have bothered to get to know you without the bond sticking us together. But all it did was force me to stay in the same room as you. I didn’t have to talk to you, or like you.” Harry thought back to the way he’d come to hope for Draco to appear, to the warmth he’d always felt in Draco’s presence. As good as a cup of tea. “To be honest, I didn’t like most of the other people I got stuck to. But… this was just the push I needed, to see you. And now… the bond’s gone, but I still want to be close to you. I _miss_ you.”

“You’re quite pathetic, you know that, right?”

Harry took a step closer. “Yep.”

“And you drink too much tea.” This time it was Draco who took a step forward.

“You… You’re you.” They stared at each other. A rather delicious hint of a blush rose from Draco’s throat. “Do you want to go and get one? A cup of tea, that is. I– I’ve had a few coffees today—”

Draco raised an eyebrow at this news. “Really?”

“I thought I should try something different. Anyway,” Harry tried to focus on what he wanted to say, “I’m a bit jittery. I’m not sure what a cup of tea would do to me. But I’d like to have one, with you.”

“Are you saying that you like me?”

“Yeah.” Harry breathed out. “A fair bit, actually. Enough to risk more caffeine.” He felt vulnerable, spilling his feelings amongst shelves of flapping books. He hesitated. “What do you think?”

A smile and another step forward was his answer, and then cool lips, still wet with rain, were on his. Harry’s insides danced a jig, and it was nothing to do with magic, or tea, or coffee. When Draco stepped away Harry felt a tug and a need, and he pulled Draco back to him.

This was no curse, no curse at all. There was light, and laughter, in Draco’s eyes and Harry knew that his life wouldn’t be quite so safe anymore. Harry smiled, and reached forward for another kiss.

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